


Pitch's Jackal

by Piff



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Animalistic Jack Frost, Compassionate Pitch Black, Gen, Multiple Personality Syndrome, Neglect, Sandy wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piff/pseuds/Piff
Summary: Years of neglect has left Jack Frost a broken, dangerous creature. Found by Sandy, taken in by Pitch, perhaps they can glue the pieces back together.But the more they unravel the curious Spirits past, the more they realize what sins have been hidden in the shadow of the Moon.





	1. Chapter 1

Pitch oozed through the shades and shadows, taking his time in moving across the world. The scenic route if you will. He was feeling a bit lazy and while it was unusual to be asked for so soon after their last visit, Pitch just didn’t feel like making the effort to get there quickly.

Couldn’t be that important, otherwise Sandy would be asking his fellow Guardians, not his occasional Chess Opponent. Or was it poker these days? They had played Monopoly once.

Once.

There was a room set up just for Pitch, without windows or lamps so that he could arrive in the darkness without having to hunt down a bed or dim closet. It was with the understanding of course that Pitch would not randomly invite himself in to torment the eternally cheerful mermaids. And he was going to be _very_ annoyed if the tendrils of fear he could now sense were from the mentioned ladies. How dare they be frightened when he had rudely denied the chance!

Pitch strolled out of the dark chamber muttering to himself, and out of habit headed for the small room he and Sanderson usually settled in for their games and drinks. Once there, he found it to be a bit… different. Colder. Whiter. The structure of the room was essentially the same, round and golden, but the walls were now covered in a layer of frost, the floor dotted with thick puddles of half-melted ice. The comfortable furniture now dripped with deadly sharp icicles.

Well. Now Pitch knew where that steady stream of fear was coming from. There was a boy who had wedged himself in the small space between the couch and floor, Sandy kneeling to peer at the cowering spirit.

Which was ridiculous as no one was afraid of Sandy. Sandy was the least fear-inspiring being Pitch had ever known, and yet this little winter spirit was all but gnawing his fingers off in the surety that Sandy was going to hurt him. 

“Sanderson…” Pitch beckoned the Guardian over when the man looked up, “you’re scaring him. Hovering over him will not help. Or I assume you are trying to help... feel free to sit there and let me soak it all up before he passes out from the emotional overload.”

Sandy threw a dirty look at the tall, thin man before easing away from the mostly-hidden Sprite. 

A whirlwind of one-sided conversation immediately started as tiny gold figures danced over Sandy’s head at lightspeed. The story he was trying to confey would surely have poked Pitch's interest if the Boogeyman had even bothered to look at him, but Pitch was more focused on the Sprite. Recognition slowly dawned over his face.

“Sanderson, why is Jack Frost hiding under your couch?”

Sandy scowled for a moment because had he not _just_ been trying to explain that? He tapped a foot on the floor as he waited for Pitch to finally look at him.

Pitch however, was still distracted. He could see that the Sprite was asleep with the dreams being so nicely illustrated by the Dreamsand, not very nice topics to dream about though not unusual for a cold spirit. But at the same time the boy was obviously awake because he was watching Pitch, his fears too specific to be sleep walking.

The bogeyman turned away now, and finally joined the annoyed Sandman on the other side of the room where a small table and pair of chairs had been set up. “Curious. Not something you see a lot of among the spiritual kind, though I suppose not too surprising since he’s a child of Winter.”

At Sandy’s confused expression, “Being the deliverer of good dreams you may not have seen it as often as I. Children, those who have been especially terrorized and abused, tend to fracture their mind into pieces in order to cope with their life. In some cases they do it so well that they create entire personalities, wholly separate people that share the same body. It’s fascinating.”

He could feel the steady stream of _don’t hurt me don’t hurt me don’t hurt me_ coming from the boy, and while Pitch would never say no to a good source of fear… it was quite sad for a child to be that afraid of everything. The Sprite was afraid of Pitch, of Sandy, afraid of the bright light, afraid of the warmth, afraid of the couch… why someone would be afraid of a couch was puzzling, but there it was.

Ah, not of the couch. Of the couch being lifted away and losing his hiding place. More reasonable that.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to take the Sprite under your wing? I mean, other than you’ve never had a good grasp on sane ideas to begin with...” 

Sandy rubbed his palms together and then threw sand up in the air in a large golden cloud.

Movie time.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

_Sandy first noticed him while seeding the dreams of a Boy Scout troop with visions of colorful badges and awards and mountains of s’mores. A cheerful group, deciding not to pitch their tents as it was such a nice night out and the stars were shining so brightly up above. Chilly though, so a campfire was made and allowed to die down to coals, sleeping bags were bundled up in and the boys were soon sleeping comfortably._

_He’d almost left it at that, drifting away on his sand cloud, when he noticed the Sprite sitting in the branches of a nearby tree, watching the boys wistfully. Sandy had seen this one before, so young to be all on his own but that’s how the Winter Spirits were, lone wolves. Still... couldn’t hurt to send him a nice little dream could it?_

_Blowing a stream of sand over to the Sprite, Sandy felt his heart being tugged at as the wisps of gold illustrated a longing to be with people and friends. And he learned his mistake a moment after that as the Sprite that was asleep turned his head and snarled at the Star._

_Gone was the wistful look and hunched shoulders, the Winter Spirit looked furious and hissed at Sandy with a mouthful of fangs. Startled, the Sandman would have left but he worried what might happen to the children below. He prepared another handful of sand, hoping that another dose would put the spirit out completely so that Sandy could remove him somewhere else away from the troop. And suddenly found the tree empty in the few seconds of Sandy looking away to check on the sleeping campers._

_Rightly he had feared for the children, the Sprite was now stalking the sleeping scouts and far too close. When Sandy saw the look of hunger and want, he gave up on aiming his pitiful handful and sent a wave of sand over the whole meadow instead. The children wouldn’t be harmed by a few extra dreams._

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

“So you saved a bunch of boy scouts from being eaten by a Winter Spirit, and decided to bring that Sprite home as... what? A pet? I would advise against it, you never know what a Winterling will do. Only reason they’re around is because no one can locate them long enough to put them out of their misery.”

Pitch tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. How often had someone tried to come put HIM out of his misery, for just being what he was?

Sandy shook his head, and tried to put his thoughts into words. Err… pictures. The Sprite had been dreaming in layers when Sandy had eventually dug him out of the Dreamsand. The dreams of flesh and blood had been unsettling, but side by side were the dreams of family and home and no one trying to hurt him.

There was a sweet, lonely boy in there and Sandy wanted to see him brought out. That the boy could also be blood thirsty and dangerous was a problem, but if Pitch wanted to help…

“Wait. No. I want nothing to do with your charity case. I’m the Bogeyman, I do not offer comfort. I scare small children and make them believe that monsters will eat them if they get out of bed. I am not... not…”

The fear was gone. As abruptly as if the Sprite had left the island. Pitch turned in his seat to look where the boy had been hiding... and came almost face to face with someone else. Same pale, shaggy hair. Same tattered, stained clothes. But this one was not hiding and watching the men with fearful eyes. This one was watching them with eyes of a very hungry, very angry, monster. 

He’d slithered out from under the couch without either man noticing and was crouched a few feet in front of it, long limbs gathered under him as if to pounce, claws of ice flexing against the floor. Pitch had the idea of a snow leopard preparing itself for an attack.

“Jack Frost huh… more like ‘Jackal’ Frost. I suggest trying the Dreamsand again, at least the other one didn’t look so psychotic.”

Sandy didn't even hesitate, and the youth crumbled to the floor. Now the two pieces Pitch had met so far were both asleep. He wondered if there were more. Hard to live a comfortable life when you only knew fear and anger. But then… what did a Winter Spirit have to be happy about?


	2. Chapter 2

_Jack clamped a hand over his mouth, shivering as he tried to hide behind the tree._

_Something was out there._

_Something big and mean and reeking of blood._

_Jack wasn’t stupid, he knew that whatever it was lurking nearby was too much for him to handle, best to hide and be silent. He didn’t even dare use Wind to take him somewhere safe because by the time Wind got enough force to get Jack up and above the trees, the monster would know where Jack was, and would be able to catch Jack, and then Jack would be no more._

_The young spirit closed his eyes and tried to will the world around him away. Everything was going to be okay. Everything would be fine._

_Jack kept repeating that to himself, over and over and over again hoping that if he believed it enough that it would come true. That is, until he noticed the big pair of clawed and bloody feet in front of him. Slowly, Jack tilted his face upwards and met the predatory yellow eyes of the Wendigo, who so far was doing nothing more but sniff passively at Jack’s head._

_If Jack had been breathing he’d have gagged under the heavy smell of rotten meat, but as it was he couldn’t even blink, completely frozen in fear._

 

\-------------------------------

 

Life, as Pitch found out over the next few weeks, was not easy when you were suddenly saddled with an immortal mentally-malfunctioning child with magical powers.

 _Especially_ when you had been blackmailed into it.

Pitch wrapped his arms around the writhing body and tried to hold Jack in place, picking the small figure right up off the floor before the Sprite could bolt off again. He had the strength to do so, but holding the boy so close had its own dangers as the boy twisted his head around and lunged for Pitch’s throat. It wasn’t a good angle to actually bite down, but Pitch could feel the sharp teeth graze his skin.

“Dammit Sanderson, hurry up!”

The little golden star didn’t have the time to snap back that he was TRYING not to put Pitch out also, but Jack paused for breath at just that moment and Sandy hit him square in the face with Dream Sand. Jack went out like a light, golden -things- dancing over his head.

Now it was Frost who panted for breath while his twin slept, pale eyes darting around the room and skittering over Sandy while trying to hide in the arms still pinning him close. Pitch appreciated the moment of respite, he could feel the rage draining out of the boy to leave him trembling like a leaf in fear, and that was much easier to handle than a squirming ball of murderous rage. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Right Sandy? He’s safe and nothing will hurt him.”

Pitch didn’t dare let go though, not yet. Because if he did Frost would immediately run off in a panic and hide and it would take days to pry him out of whatever tiny crack he’d found.

And there were a _lot_ of cracks and tiny tunnels in the cave system Pitch occupied.

Sandy was staring at the boy intently as Frost continued to settle down, waiting to make sure that the more feral side of Jack Frost was deeply asleep and not likely to come swanning back without warning. In fact, he was so focused on the boy that it took him a moment to realize Pitch was humming. A soft, tuneless hum meant to comfort and soothe the hysterical boy.

Sandy was so surprised that he almost missed it when Pitch quietly asked for a small hairbrush from the table by the couch. Sandy was careful to move slowly, using a tendril of golden sand to hand the brush to Pitch instead of moving closer himself, not wanting to upset the Sprite any more than he already was.

Pitch had stolen the idea from Jack’s dreams of young women who lived in lakes, who wore long white dresses and their fingers ending in long claws. They sounded very alike to the Rusalka spirits but those women were not creatures known to be comforting, especially not towards young men. Yet even so, the frightened half of Jack Frost had very soothing memories of sitting and having his hair brushed.

The tense frame slowly relaxed and Pitch could let himself sink down towards the ground. It took some awkward maneuvering but he finally had the boy sitting between his knees, calm and quiet and even half asleep under the gentle touches.

…oh. Right. Sanderson.

Pitch looked around for the fallen star. “I think we can agree that was not the grandest of ideas.” 

As Sandy stared helplessly, Pitch unwrapped an arm from around the Sprite to rub at tired eyes before he continued to explain. “Jack made a break for it today. Escaped his guard and fled the caverns. If the Nightmares hadn’t caught up with him, I don’t know what might have happened, other than something bad of course.”

Sandy shook his head, dusting the Dreamsand off of his hands with a sigh.

The Winter Sprite turned his head to eye him sleepily, tracking the Star while chewing reflexively on a bandaged knuckle. His tendency to chew on his fingers until the skin was shredded and nails torn off had forced Pitch to protectively wrap them in layers of the thin cloth. When Pitch caught sight of what the Sprite was doing he quickly intervened by wrapping a hand over the small fist and tucking it against Frost’s chest.

“Stop that,” to the boy before turning back to Sandy with- “I should have expected it I suppose, it has been an exceptionally good week. Always a sign that things are about to turn upside down, don’t you agree?”

Another sigh. Pitch sounded, and looked, worn out.

Sandy winced. The Star felt guilty about leaving Pitch to deal with it all on his own, even if he was doing a remarkably good job considering, but Sandy just couldn’t afford to take off weeks or days at a time from his duties like Pitch could. Fear occurred naturally. Keeping dreams alive took a little more effort. And that was without what would have happened if the other Guardians had found a mad little Winter Spirit trying to chew Sandy’s arm off.

The least he could do was to find the first aid kit and offer to patch the Boogeyman up. He had some nasty looking scratches on his face; a bit higher and he might have actually lost an eye.

Pitch held back a wince as Sandy unexpectedly patted at the dried blood with a wet cloth. “If I was a mortal man, I’d worry about an infection. Instead I get to merely worry about scars. For a boy who rips out his own nails often enough, he certainly can do a lot of damage.”

Sandy hissed softly between his teeth in sympathy, thinking of the razor-sharp ice claws that Jack used to replace the missing nails.

“I managed to get Frost to dress and eat breakfast with me, and as you can see I did not clothe him in all black so stop rolling your eyes.” Pitch sulked, flinching as the deepest of the three scratches broke open even with such a gentle touch.

“You’d think Frost would be the easier to handle of the two halves,” the taller Spirit mused aloud. Glancing absently to the side at Sandy’s raised eyebrow. “Well, most of the time he is. I do not expect him to attack me any time my back is turned, but that doesn’t make him any less difficult. I am the King of Fear, but even I can grow tired of having someone afraid every moment of the day. And if he’s not afraid, he’s confused and has no idea about anything around him. It’s… vexing as otherwise he’s a very… sweet… boy. Unlike our little Jackal.”

He made sure to keep petting the Winter Child that was curled up on his lap in slow soothing motions as he spoke. It was rather like having a pet cat, a thought that made the Boogeyman smirk. All good villains had a pet didn’t they? 

Well, Pitch had TWO. So there.

Pitch grudgingly bent down to allow a bandage to be attached to his face; a few hours of irritation would be worth not having the Star nag and scold him until Pitch gave in anyways.

Sandy turned troubled eyes to the now fast-asleep boy. Boys. Gold and black sand twisted above the battered Sprite’s head, not settling into one specific shape. He’d wonder if all this work and stress was worth trying to save one mad winter spirit, but this was a child and he had not always been like this.

Sandy had to try.

Golden eyes suddenly narrowed, and Sandy leaned in to look a little closer at the previously unnoticed black ring around the Sprite’s neck. However, before he could demand an explanation, Pitch started talking again.

“I have to admit, much as I loathed the idea to begin with, I’m actually starting to enjoy having them around. Certainly keeps me on my toes as I never know which side of Jack Frost I’ll be facing. It’s the most entertainment I’ve had in years, barring yourself of course.”

Sandy shoulders drooped for a moment. That a child could be brought so low… but he wouldn’t be sidetracked for long. He reached out and pinched Pitch’s right ear harshly and pointed at the collar.

“Ow! Desist!” Pitch didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t know why Sandy was upset. “It’s not like I WANTED to put a collar on him, but I ran out of ideas in keeping track of the brat. He’s invisible unless sleeping, as you well know, and I had to do _something_ in case he ran off again.”

Sandy didn’t like the way Pitch’s eyes dropped to the side, nor the twitch of fingers as they tapped against the fabric of the couch. He waited.

“…I used one of my last Fearlings for the collar, the smallest one I had and bound by oath. Not like they have any true shape so it was easy to twist it into a short rope, and THAT I can track across the world within the accuracy of a hundred feet.”

Pitch almost looked thoughtful as he ignored the look of horror on the Sandman’s face as he added “…and it will give Frost some company, no matter where he is, if it doesn’t drive him more insane of course. Worth a shot don’t you think?”

Sandy was forced to ‘shout’ at Pitch using his sand, which was really not the same at all, and Pitch didn’t even bother to pay attention to most of it, just kept petting his chilly companion.

Yes, Jackal and frost were the best sort of pet. Small enough to carry around, vicious enough to be amusing. Pitch had always disliked dogs.


	3. Chapter 3

_Jack Frost used his teeth to tear off another strip of meat, keeping wary eyes on the hulking monster sitting opposite him._

_Between them was the mutilated body of some… thing. Probably mammal? He couldn’t tell anymore what it had used to be, being that it was shredded and broken and missing large chunks. This could be a good thing, since Jack didn’t want to offend the monster by refusing an offering of said meat. Whatever it may be._

_He SHOULD be dead. In tiny pieces. Splinters of bone and flesh. Instead the Wendigo had sniffed at him a few times before picking him up by the back of his shirt, carrying off the little Sprite like a cub that had strayed too far from home._

_Jack could almost be offended at the disapproving look he’d gotten for being so skinny, though he wasn’t sure how he knew it was disapproving. Or that it was because he was too skinny. Either way- the whole situation was almost enough to make him cry with confusion. It was better to just not think about it too hard and eat his meal._

_…this was really good meat. Wasn’t deer. Definitely was not rabbit. Bear maybe? Too sweet._

_Later, when Jack woke up from an unintentional nap that had followed a full belly, he found himself in a contented puppy pile of more Wendigo._

_He finally felt like he was home._

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

“Of course I want to help Sandy, I just… why are you doing this? Jack Frost has always been a troubled being. He hasn’t done anything so bad yet to deserve a talking to but…”

Tooth fell silent under the reproachful look, confused all the more, before tentatively adding, “he’s a _Winter Spirit_. None of them are quite right. It comes with being connected to the coldest, cruelest time of the year. It’s just... wrong. I mean, even the Man in the Moon says we should stay away from them.”

It made her shiver just thinking about it. The cold wastelands barren of everything good and kind, haunted by monsters that would do an innocent terrible harm. And what was worse, they couldn’t be tracked! It was like they were surrounded by an invisible force that allowed them to pass by within a few feet of someone without anyone ever knowing it.

They were dangerous.

They were _evil_.

Jack Frost had not harmed anyone that she knew of, but the potential was there. He had the same invisible aura around him, he had the powers of winter, and most importantly – Manny said to leave him be.

All together it meant Jack Frost was to be watched carefully but kept a good distance from. If Manny himself thought Jack was beyond help, then obviously there was something wrong.

…even if he did seem like such a nice boy sometimes…

“Sandy?”

The little golden Star rubbed his forehead. He knew what Tooth was thinking and it was not helpful. All he wanted to know was if she had a box of Jack Frost’s baby teeth from when he’d been human.

“Well… yes… of course. I have everyone's.”

Sandy held his hand out, wisps of sand stilling then flowing back to life. Signs of teeth and snowflakes and strange little things that had the Tooth Fairy crossing her eyes as she tried to follow along.

And she continued to hesitate. It was a breach of trust to let someone rummage through a child’s precious memories. “I’m still... not comfortable just handing it over. Maybe if Jack was here to see them too? Without Jack it wouldn’t work very well anyways. You might be able to catch a really strong memory, but not likely anything good, since he’s-… ahh... lost them… so long ago.”

Tooth was flustered, and knew she was flustered, and this just made her even more awkward. It was just such an odd request!

Sandy sighed then reached over to pat her shoulder soothingly while inwardly, he sighed over how certain everyone was that Winter Beings were so monstrous.

He gave the brightly colored fairy a low bow and tipping of a hat before streaming another series of images at her. While she puzzled through the pictorial farewell, the Star pondered the logistics of bring Frost, or Moon forbid, Jack, to the Palace with all the little fairies and bright lights and hundreds of small places to hide and…

Dear heavens, what a nightmare that would be. 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Far, far away from the Tooth Palace where Sandy was trying to wheedle one little box of teeth from Toothiana... Pitch sat up slowly. Sparks flashed behind his eyes and his head throbbed like the drums of war deep in the bowels of the earth.

What the.. Hell…?

Every bone in his body felt like it had been flattened with a rolling pin, muscles screaming as the tall man lurched up to his feet without an ounce of grace. Standing so fast was a mistake as his vision grayed and only a nearby table kept him from face-planting back onto the floor.

Not too far away was the crumpled, far less conscious form of the Winter Sprites, their inky shadow collar writhing and whining pathetically that it had not liked that _at all. Not one bit_.

Ignoring it for now, Pitch continued to lean on the table and tried to remember exactly what he had been doing to get this painful throbbing centered right behind his eyes. It had to do with magic. He gathered that much from the instruments on the table. And from the small form still unmoving on the floor, it had to deal with his pet. Guest. Charge. Magic plus Sprites plus KABOOM equaled… something.

Ah. Yes.

Pitch had collared the Sprites in order to track them more easily, in the event of another escape. It had worked too, though only within a certain range. Too far and even that connection was oddly muffled. So what he’d been trying to do was find a way to enhance it, maybe by twisting a tracking spell to the collar itself. Or if that failed, Jack’s very clothing. Couldn’t hurt to try anyways. And while doing that, Pitch might as well make the attempt to bind the Sprites seasonal magic because those damnable ice claws _hurt_.

Obviously, if the blacking out and lethal headache were any clue, something had gone wrong with the tests.

Pitch forced himself to let go of the table, ringing ears and graying vision be damned, and made his legs take him closer to the pale form still on the floor. This was not the place at all for the little monster to raise his head, too many magical artifacts lying around. 

…if they had not already been destroyed in the bewildering incident. Frankly, Pitch was in too much pain and too exhausted to look around, so he’d save that potential tantrum for later.

He could only be grateful no one but the Nightmares were around to watch him struggle, as just bending over sent bolts of pain through his body, but eventually he did manage to get the Sprites off the floor. Somehow. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d managed it but he was standing and holding the cold body and that’s all that mattered.

He then promptly cheated by draping the very light form over the back of his newly favorite (and very sturdy) Nightmare who didn’t mind carrying the Sprites or that Pitch was using her to balance himself as they walked. His legs felt like they had been filled with jello and that was aggravating to say the least.

“Good girl,” patting her neck as he closed his eyes and leaned into her side. Bed. Bed sounded good.

The bed for the Sprites was currently installed in Pitch’s bedroom for convenience sake, though it looked more like a tent jammed in the corner what with the folds of cloth draped over a small frame. Frost was happiest and calmest in small spaces, and who was Pitch to judge? Pitch himself sometimes slept UNDER his bed. A bed Pitch couldn’t wait to lay down on with a heap of deliciously soft pillows. Before he could do that, however, the Sprites had to be put to theirs. And because he didn’t feel like waking up to finding a wild little hellion standing over him (again), Pitch leashed the Fearling collar to the frame of the little tent-bed.

Finally falling into the thick mattress of his own bed was then pure bliss, and Pitch knew nothing but delightful unconsciousness.

That is… until a truly annoying Guardian of Dreams decided to come along and shake him awake.

Rotten little star.

“Sanderson, I feel like I have been sat on by one of those enormous rock-men that work for Bunnymund. If this is not important, I’m hexing your mermaids.” He slowly dragged himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Painful as it was, he had to crack his eyes open to see what Sandy was trying to say.

“Absolutely not,” Pitch refused without hesitation.

As Sandy tried to explain what he’d been doing, Pitch corrupted and waved aside the once-golden sand to send the little grains to all corners of the room.

“ _No_. One, the Jackal is too dangerous to take out of the catacombs. Two, Frost would have a heart attack in such an open spaced area, not to mention the brightness, the warmth, and the thousands of fairies zooming about. Three, she’s a Guardian and loathes me and follows the usual view that Winter Spirits should be left completely and utterly alone, if not outright killed. Why on this planet's core should I allow you to take our neurally-challenged Sprites to the Tooth Palace?”

Gold sand burst over Sandy’s head in images of a tooth and a baby and a tooth box, then finally Jack Frost’s own face.

Pitch found himself waiting for the other part before slowly realizing that was it. “You cannot be serious. Much good it will do US when HE will see the memories and WE cannot. Neither half of the Sprite is especially chatty if you remember. And being that they are the memories of his human life before death, a life that shoved him into the role of a Winter Seasonal, I fail to see how further traumatizing him will help!”

Sandy crossed his arms to glower at the Bogeyman.

“No.”

Sandy stomped a diminutive foot.

“No.”

The little man pointed upwards, at a glowing sand-created moon and clouds over trees.

“No.”

Star and Boogeyman stared at each other for a long moment, eyes narrowed and refusing to bend.

Which is of course when Jack decided to wake up and bring along a truly magnificent blaze of magic that had Pitch instinctively trying to hide under his massive bed. Sandy was right by his side.

On one hand, it answered so many questions on how powerful the Sprites were. Pitch would no longer have to guess on just how much force would be needed to pin the ferocious creature down when having a tantrum of hurricane proportions.

On the other hand, that was a LOT of power.

_Lunar_ power.

Answer one question and get a slew of more. Like – why was a Seasonal Spirit loaded down with _moon magic_?

“Sanderson, meet Reason Number Four on why the Sprites will not be leaving the catacombs.”

Sandy slowly reached over and shook Pitch’s hand, which the Bogeyman supposed was an agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

_Revulsion clashed against glee in his head, feeling like his mind was trying to tear itself apart. Jack dug his nails into his scalp until blood coated his hair._

_Eating people was –wrong-._

_“It’s what you’re made to do,” whispered the Russalka._

_“Eat,” commanded the Wendigo._

_“You don't belong here,” said the spirits of earth and sky and water and fire. “You should be killed.”_

_He didn’t want to hurt anyone!_

_The blood had been so warm and the flesh so sweet and he’d felt the thrill of a stalking hunt and the kill had been wonderful._

_He’d felt powerful and strong._

_He didn’t understand! He didn’t want to be like this! He’d tried so hard to be good!_

_But he'd been so, so hungry. And they had smelled so good. They hadn't even seen him coming. No one did. They all looked through him as if he wasn't there and it made him so **angry**._

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Snow Queen was disappointed.

The Man in the Moon had promised her help centuries ago, and yet he still had done nothing about it.

She _needed_ this help.

Every year there seemed to be a new crop of horrible beasts, born from the minds of the humans as they huddled around fires and imagined all sorts of things outside in the cold. Wendigo’s had been the latest craze, as was the Jikininki before that, and the Wechuge before THAT, each bearing murderous intent to any creature they came across.

Every year too she found fewer and fewer people wanting to be around her, especially as they started to blame her for every horrible storm and freezing temperatures that killed those who believed in the spiritual world. That it was her fault if an entire town starved to death because THEY had not gathered in enough food over the harvest. Or even worse, her fault if a town on the verge of starving turned on each other for food.

She _guided_ the weather, she did not _make_ it. Such forces were beyond even her to stop.

Winter was an art. It was full of beauty and grace and it was utterly ignored because of a bunch of cannibals and psychopaths had taken it over. The Queen loved her season but it was slowly wearing her down to the bone, even with the help of her specially crafted globe. It was the predecessor to the globe St North was creating at his workshop by blending machine with magic, though hers was merely crystal clear ice. It was a helpful tool that she had grown very dependent on, but it wasn’t like she had other options. Not since General Winter had decided to take a centuries-long nap.

Casting a long, bitter look towards the full moon, the Snow Queen retreated back into her castle, closing the thick white doors securely.

Damn them all.

Well. Maybe not all of them…

“Pitch Black, stopping by to say hello?” extending her hand out towards the tall, thin man as he stepped out of the shadows beside her.

Did it bother her that he’d shown up without as much as a knock on her door? Not really.

Pitch was always welcome in her home.

The Boogie Man bowed low as he lightly kissed the knuckles of her hand. “My lady, how lovely you look tonight.”

“Flattery will get you nothing, but please continue. I do love to hear your compliments”

As they flirted, Lady Snow led Pitch towards a table and some chairs to sit comfortable. Pitch was grateful she blew out all but a single lamp; most of her castle was the pure white of fresh snow and there had been times he’d been left half blinded by the brightness of it all.

Sitting and tossing her fur cloak over the back of her chair, Lady Snow leaned towards the Boogeyman. “What can I do for you Pitch? It is not often you come by these days.”

“I am sorry for that, but these days I find very little time to myself. And… well my lady, I did have a few things to ask of you, but even more so I have a few things to discuss. If I may, I would like to invite Mother Nature to your castle as she is very important to that discussion.”

“Your daughter? This sounds serious. I rather enjoy having you to myself, but please go ahead. I may not have much to offer as refreshments but I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Snow, ice, and more snow?” Pitch teased as he folded his hands on the table. “I fear it is very serious, I would prefer to wait until Seraphina has arrived to talk about it, but… Tell me, what do you know about a spirit known as ‘Jack Frost’?”

She could not keep the bitterness from her voice, nor the frustration.“I know he’s infuriatingly hard to get a hold of. I don’t have many occasions to get out of the palace, and I simply don’t have the time to chase him down when I do. Compared to most of my compatriots he sounds almost normal. Sane. If I could train him as my assistant, everything would work so much more smoothly. I need help, Pitch! I’m losing more ground every year… I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up.”

Taking one of her hands between his, Pitch tried not to wince. “Take heart, my lady. I am here to offer assistance, but I have some news you will not like..”

 

\---------------------------------------

 

“He should have been sent to me! He should have been MINE”!

Pitch thought the hissy fit was rather deserved, and sat back in his chair to watch Lady Snow pace across the room with quick, agitated steps.

His daughter had also gone quiet, sitting and tapping her fingers against the chair arm. Vines and flowers sprouted under her nails with each tap, though with the chair made of sleek ice the tendrils didn’t last long. She’d arrived not long ago and understood enough of Pitch’s surprising information that she too thought the tantrum well deserved.

The Snow Queen suddenly stopped pacing to whirl around and face Pitch, eyes bright with murderous intent. Thankfully, it was not towards him personally.

“Do you realize what this means?” hissed it out between her clenched teeth. “This means every time I begged him for help, _pleaded_ with the Man in the Moon for someone to share the responsibilities of winter with, he created those THINGS!”

It did seem to be the case; Pitch did have to agree with that. But still he kept silent, propping his chin on one fist.

“I could accept that my wish for company brought forth those… monsters… but for him to not say anything? For him to set them loose and pretend he had nothing to do with them? To mask his magic, and thus _their_ magic, from our senses to make sure we knew nothing of his involvement?”

Pitch was so glad he’d thought to come directly to the icy fortress for this meeting. The Snow Queen was old and usually too careful for her powers to erupt in full force with her temper, but he was still thankful to not have to worry about his Catacombs. Or Mother Nature her plants.

“I wonder...” Nature interrupted, “the other Winterlings were obvious from the moment they first appeared that their temperaments left a lot to be desired. When they could be found, I mean. And…”

Lady Snow snapped her eyes over to Seraphina, small cloudy puffs gathering around her mouth with each angry breathe. “And?”

“And I wonder why he thrust Jack to the side when he seems to have had such a better start. What did Manny see in him that made him abandon the boy? The madness he suffers now seems to be a recent event, from centuries of neglect which could have been avoided if we’d known from the start. So what did Manny see that he didn’t like?”

Pitch paused while Lady Snow took a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. Once she had re-seated herself at the table, the three immortals forming a triangle, he took up the question.

“Jack Frost, from what Sanderson can guess from the few memories he pried out of the tooth-box, was created from the body of a boy who had drowned while saving his younger sister. So to begin with, that is why you,” looking to his daughter, “did not realize the change. Once his life had ended, your jurisdiction had too.”

She slowly nodded. “Yet Death….?”

“It was not at the time of death that the Moon changed him, but sometime after Death had collected the soul of the original boy. As long as the body stayed frozen then Manny could do as he wished any time without making himself known.”

Lady Snow looked as if she'd have liked to have another good shout but settled for grinding her teeth instead.

“But if this is not the original boy then who…?” Nature frowned as she rolled the various implications through her mind.

“The brain still held the memories of the boy, and I don’t know how he did it but he managed to base his creation on those while blocking them completely. In short he created a Winter Spirit who would give his life up for something he cherished, like the boy did for his sister, yet didn’t give him anything to fill the roll. In turn that left Jack Frost desperately searching for something he couldn’t name.”

“But with the proper guidance that wouldn’t have been a problem,” seethed the Snow Queen.

“I am in agreement. This makes it harder to understand the why of the Tsar’s neglect.” Nature reached over to give Snow’s hand a soothing pat.

Pitch shrugged. “The Man in the Moon likes to be seen as the world's guiding light. As impressive as it would have been for him to show off his child made of Moon and Winter magic, two wildly different and difficult elements, eventually he would have had to admit to using Necromancy. It's unavoidable. No creature of the light would applaud his use of such a dark and evil magic, not for any reason and especially not for a mere Winterling. He himself has always called for the annihilation of such practices. His pride would not allow his hypocrisy to be seen, which left Jack abandoned and isolated to an extreme degree.” What had gone through Manny’s mind when he’d realized that the moment of his greatest triumph, was also his lowest?

“Makes you wonder what else Manny may be hiding,” as Mother Nature again starting to tap a finger against her chair, thinking hard. “Do you believe Jack to be his first dalliance with the dark magics? There have been some good Spirits,” giving the Snow Queen a nod. “The Ice Pixies I could live without, but they are rather pretty to look at. Mischievous, but not unkind. So it cannot be that Winter is so hard to work with, but when you add in Necromancy..”

Pitch hesitated. “I would say that in the sense of magic, it's impossible for Jack to be the first. He's flawed, yes, but extremely well made all the same. He eats, he breathes, he even sleeps. How necessary these are I am not yet willing to test. He bleeds when injured, although slowly, and eventually heals. It's very.. lifelike.”

“How do you know he's not truly alive?”

“The lack of a heartbeat. And the fact you can not sense him having any sort of life force..”

There was a moment of silence, because.. well how did one argue that?

“Not exactly proof, since all his wintery kin share the same invisibility and tendency to eat human flesh.” Nature flapped an impatient hand at Snow as the woman in white growled. “Hush. You know I did not mean you. My point is- has the Tsar been using corpses this entire time? Because if he has, it would explain many things. So many, many things.”

“That he’s a narcissistic hypocrite who thought he could do better than anyone else? And then went on to hide his mistakes like a toddler hiding spilt milk?”

“Ladies, we are getting off track I think. The Man in the Moon is an idiot, we all know this. What we SHOULD be discussing is whether or not we keep this to ourselves, and if we do, what should we do about the other Winterlings. Right now they are protected by Manny’s shielding, and if that is removed because we’ve… tattled.. what will become of them? Slaughtered by the dozens?”

Lady Snow raised an eyebrow, “and you believe that a bad thing?”

“They are too deeply enveloped in the myths and legends of the human kind,” Nature answered instead of Pitch. “They could probably all be killed, but even a handful of believers would bring them right back. If we could keep them contained perhaps?”

“I also have to point out that as dark as some of them may be, they are still needed in the larger picture. Daughter, I’m sure you agree. The world MUST be kept in balance, without creatures of darkness you cannot have those of light.”

Lady Snow groaned. “What are you saying then? Do you want to create a zoo for monsters, to keep them from being slaughtered by the self righteous twits?”

Nature held up a hand, “we have not even decided if we are going to inform the rest of our kind. Surely that-“

“Not a bad idea.”

Mother Nature and Lady Snow turned to stare at Pitch. “…say again?”

“Not a zoo of course, we don’t want to cage the Winterlings to be treated like a freak show,” he started off slowly, “but perhaps more like a reserve. People NEED their monsters. They LIKE to be scared. Fear has been what kept the human kind alive for so many centuries, so we must not allow the creatures to be merely wiped out.”

“If they even can be killed off,” Nature reminded him.

“Even so. And I remind you that Jack Frost did not start off as bloodthirsty monster. Neither part of him. So while we are wondering things, I can’t help but wonder how the stories involving the Winter Seasonals got so bad. Many, if I remember correctly, started off as warnings, not instant death. How many of them out there now are simply trying to survive?”

Nature shook her head. “I think if any one of us has a chance to get close enough to ask, it would be you Father. Without getting eaten or them killed.”

Pitch acknowledged that with a grimace.

Lady Snow rubbed at her eyes. “..I need a drink.”

“We all do, dear. Do you have any wine?”


	5. Chapter 5

Pitch crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the pond.

The forest around him was gloomy and dim, water dripped off the melancholy tree branches with dull thuds. The pond itself was perfectly still, as still as the air in fact. No birds sang, no frogs or crickets. No animal wandered by with the cracking of small branches or brushing of leaves.

Personally, Pitch rather approved of an atmosphere that positively screamed DOOM. He was the Nightmare King after all, and he was allowed to appreciate the beauty of such a spine-tingling setting.

And now he waited to see who would run out of patience first; himself or the young lady living in murky water. Catching the series of ripples from the middle of the mirror-like pond, he kept his smug smirk inside to instead try and coax her out further.

"Lovely one, I am not here to hurt you. May we talk?"

Ahhhh, there she was. The pale head of the Rusalka lifted out of the water just enough to allow the crystal-blue eyes to stare back at him suspiciously.

Lovely indeed, and if he didn't know better he'd assume the creature to be closely related to the Snow Queen what with the snow-white skin and hair. Or his pet Sprites. But then, they were all Winter-themed beings so a common resemblance shouldn't be surprising.

"I realize that you are not used to believing the words of a male, but I swear on the Shadows, I am not going to harm you though I will not allow you to drown me either."

Pitch spread his hands out to the side to show he held no weapon.

"Can we not be friends? I am Pitch Black, King of the Shadows and Nightmares, and I am very, very pleased to finally meet you.”

 

\---------

 

He'd left Sandy alone with the Sprites for far too long perhaps, but it was rather difficult to track down spirits who did not wish to be found. And could not be found by the more magical ways. He'd had to flood the thick forests with his Nightmares to even get an idea where the handful of maidens might reside and of course none of them lived close to one another.

On the other hand, Sandy should have some quality time with his little charity case. It HAD been his idea in the first place, had it not?

So it was at a leisurely stroll that Pitch entered the catacombs. He eventually found Sandy standing in front of the Globe with a rather gloomy expression while actually inside the globe was the Jackal.

Pitch could tell it was Jackal because his eyes had this glitter of promised mayhem the moment he was left unattended. And the smug smirk on the boy’s face said he’d already destroyed something while Pitch had been away.

"There's my favorite little psychotic manifestation of winter playfulness," crooned the bogeyman, just to see the boy scowl darkly at him. Perhaps it was poor sport to tease the Jackal, but it amused Pitch to see the glimmers of intelligence. "Have you been behaving for Sanderson?"

Absently patting the Star on the head as he passed him, Pitch reached inside the globe to fish the boy out by the back of his shirt. He ignored the hisses and growls and other signs of displeasure because it was kind of like watching an angry kitten since the boys’ powers had been bound.

Seasonal AND Lunar powers. The hissy fit that had followed that event earlier in the week would be something to talk about for many years to come. His pet was so cute.

Kicking boy tucked under one arm, Pitch turned back to Sandy. "I found the Rusalka. Not just the maidens under that name, but I found THE Rusalka. The first maiden who began the stories and collected a following. I apologize for taking so long but it will be rather worth the trouble when I tell you her story. And, I proved my theory which in itself was worthy. Shall we settle in some place more comfortable? A good fire would be nice, it got a bit chilly out there."

He sauntered off without waiting for Sandy's reply, continuing to ignore the flailing and kicking from his enraged Sprites. "Most entertaining day, I should go out more often. Maybe take the boys with me too, let Jackal run off some of this energy. Let him chase some rabbits."

Sandy thought that a cheerful Pitch Black was vaguely creepy, but Sandy HAD been the one to say it wasn't healthy for a seasonal to be trapped inside all the time. Not that he could tell Pitch ‘I told you so’ because the tall man was walking away and leaving Sandy to scramble behind him.

“Since I have tagged him with my magic, I don’t think it would hurt at all to let the boys loose now and then. Maybe even tomorrow, when I go looking for the Wendigo. We already know the beasts won’t eat this one, and it will be far from any human settlement. “

Pitch switched the wriggling body to his other arm as he sat down. It was a huge, dramatic chair with a high back and thick cushions, covered in soft black fabric and gold trim. Sulking pet on his lap, arms pinned to their sides, Pitch patted at Jackal’s hair.

“Aren’t they so much nicer to have around now that the Jackal can’t grow long claws or shoot icicles at us?”

Sandy rolled his eyes and took to his own chair as he listened to the Bogeyman chatter.

A chattery Bogeyman. Good grief.

“Now about the Rusalka... The very, very pretty Rusalka. Did you know each maiden is trapped in the area of which she’d drowned in? Usually a lake or pond.. things get a bit interesting for rivers of course, in those cases it depends on where the body ends up. But usually in a lake or pond.”

Pitch took a moment to drop one hand to the shadows around his feet, eventually pulling out an ancient, dusty bottle of wine. Such handy things were his shadows. They could hold the bottle as he brought forth a pair of wine glasses and even pour wine into said glasses for him.

He offered a glass to Sandy before continuing with the train of thought. “But did you know that if she has a portion of the lake water with her, she could move away from it? Fascinating really when you think of it.. Instead of being forced to stay in one damp little area of the forest, she could bottle up some water and travel the world. Or relocate somewhere safe.”

He admired the deep, deep red of the wine. “Like… for instance… a castle in the far north. Where she could keep another lovely lady company. Lady Snow is absolutely thrilled of course, I've never seen her so.. incandescent.”

Realizing Jackal had finally stopped wriggling, Pitch looked down at the boy he’d kept pinned to his side and noted there had been a changing of the guard. “Good evening Frost. How are you fearing today?”

Sandy, of course, rolled his eyes at the pun. Frost didn't bother.

Pitch, much to the Star’s very apparent exasperation, continued to coo down at Frost instead of finishing the story. “Would you like to go and find your disgusting, man-eating friends with me tomorrow? Take a nice long walk where no one will accidentally cross your path and get messily slaughtered? Who’s my good little sociopath, hmm? Who’s my good little sociopath?”

Sandy slapped a hand over his eyes.

Frost just burrowed further into Pitch’s robe until the only parts of him visible were a some strands of white hair and a few pale toes.

“Good, I see we’re in agreement. …I’m sorry Sandy. Were you trying to say something? No? Where was I… Ah yes, the Rusalka . They're already changing residence. If you'll oblige me later, we could probably knock off a few more creatures from the list. Lets say.. the Waheela? I know there's a few running around somewhere.”

Sand made the image of a wolf running around.

“Exactly. Giant wolves that live in the snow. They tend to eat people but that's not a surprise. We'll have to import some cows or something every once in a while I suppose..”

How nice that Canada was so large. And nearby. So much open space that could be warded to the hilt and hidden from nosy beings. Starting with the Snow Queen’s new castle, now staffed with a bevy of delectable maidens. 

Not to be trusted with any important matter, not yet at least, but they would still be of help to the Queen. 

Sandy waved a hand at the distracted Boogie Man. 

“Mmm?” Pitch watched him for a long moment, tilting his glass to make the wine swirl. “No. He’ll stay here.”

Sandy frowned. 

“What would you have me do? Send him to the Wendigo caves? To be surrounded by Rusalka in the castle? He’s settling in here just fine I believe, no need to upset him.”

Sandy glared.

“Honestly Sanderson. What did you expect? This was your idea.”

 

\------------------------------------

 

It would be some time before things were truly settled, the care and attention each species would need were astronomical. To find them would only be the first piece of the individual puzzles. If they could not be reasoned with then the creatures would need to be captured and bound before being transferred regardless. They would have to be watched carefully once they were in their new home, but hopefully there would be few escape attempts.

The team was very small, with very important duties to be seen to. While Mother Nature and Pitch could devote large chunks of undivided attention to help the Snow Queen, Sandy could not. 

That the most efficient method of retrieval was sadly regulated to cases of only the most extreme danger, meant that the collecting took even more time and energy. Adding to the stress was having to do it without attracting attention, forced to keep to either daylight or moonless nights, meant it literally took decades.

And yet..

It..

Worked...?

Things were changing. Slowly but surely, they were changing for the better. For some reason as more Winter Spirits were brought to the secluded conclave, the more they seemed to.. sort of.. Gentle? 

“I think ‘revert’ would be the proper word,” mused the Snow Queen as she stood on the balcony. She had a clear view of the valley and the mountains surrounding it. With the amount of wards that were still being layered on weekly, the Mortals would soon forget the range had ever existed. 

Her kin were safe. And the Mortals were safe from her kin. 

Pitch made a small noise of agreement, watching the pack of wolf-like monsters play in the snow. They were still dangerous creatures, but something about being in close proximity with the others, the Wendigo and Nuckelavee and whatnot, had rubbed a few sharp edges smooth.

That wasn’t to say the Wendigo stopped eating human flesh, how could they? That’s what they were. But now instead of roaming freely and eating anyone that they came across, now they only appeared in specific, traditional circumstances.

Not even Mother Nature or the Snow Queen could stop that from happening, but the Wendigo and the Mahaha always returned home in the same way they vanished. Mysteriously.

It drove Pitch crazy that somehow the creatures were getting through the wards, but that was the power of mortal human imagination.

How infuriating.

“Mother Nature and I were talking.”

Pitch cast a wary glance at the woman in white fur. “Dare I ask?”

“We’ve decided it’s time to let the others know. Other than a few unfortunate events, the mountain is secure. Thanks to my Handmaidens, I have actual breathing room to relax. All the wards are based on earth magics, without a lick of moon magic to be found. It’s time.”

A disgruntled sound distracted Pitch from replying, or saved him from trying to decide what to respond with. The Jackal was perched on the railing of the balcony, balanced on the balls of his feet and glaring at the ice pixies dancing in the air just out of his reach. 

He made another sound, an irritated chirp commonly heard from cats watching prey through a window. 

Pitch smiled fondly. “Well my dear, if you are satisfied, then so am I. Should they decide to attack, we know how to break the bonds on the winterlings and prove that the Man in the Moon was responsible. What they do after that should be interesting.”

Jackal made one last complaint before abandoning his perch. He hopped off the railing and not-quite-walked not-quite-scuttled over to the table to slide under it. The Sprites still hated to be out in the open for too long, but under the table they settled down easily and curled up against Pitch’s leg. 

Pitch reached down and patted the boy on the head. He started chuckling as he thought of something. “Did I tell you, we ran into Bunnymund some time ago? I forgot what time of year it was, and stumbled right into him planting some eggs.”

“Oh?”

“My little Jackal bit him. Only after Bunnymund started yelling of course, but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless. It made for an amusing picture.”

“Yet Jack was left unharmed? Odd.”

“I wouldn’t allow otherwise.”

“I think,” the Snow Queen decided, “that it would be best if you were not available during the meeting. Mother Nature and I will be more than able to handle it.”

Pitch raised his glass to her. “You have my utmost faith.”

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
>  
> 
> This is an old, ollllld story. I've been cleaning up my files and I keep finding pieces of things I was working on before I got sucked into other things. I was very proud of this one at the time and allllmost had it completely finished.. But now I'm a little torn over the idea of Multiple Personalities, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, and its controversy. Still kind of makes for an interesting story idea though, so.. here we go.


End file.
